Made of mud.
Made of gravel.
Made of sand.
Made of God’s mind.
Full of clouds.
Made of all things porous.
On the window-glass:
Jack Frost’s elaborate seascapes and candelabras,
cathedrals and bell-towers.
A million chattering children.
Men in taxis and tanks, sobbing.
Cats, like coughing.
And the sun with a blinding spade
digging, in the snow, a grave, throwing
the brilliance over his shoulder:
I am Significance.
And this is your door.
Printed from Cerise Press: http://www.cerisepress.com
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